I spotted a pub, a nice brick structure attached to a house. Like many neighborhood pubs, the sign showed the Old Style beer logo. I walked in through the doors. I attracted attention. Nobody cared that I had insisted on wearing a mask. I looked unfamiliar.
A woman called out, "How are you doing, sweetie?" "Oh, I'm fine. Passing through. I stopped for Tom's Sweet Corn, and need to stretch my legs." A man smiled, "So, you're not a local." I thought, "It would take a lifetime to become a local. All I need to do is sit down and order an Old Style." "I live over in Streator," I offered, hoping to look local enough. A woman squealed, "I'm from Streator!" "How about that. I'm thirty miles east of Streator and I meet a neighbor!" I excused myself. I had downed an extra large soda at Jimmy Johns in downtown Kankakee.
The rest rooms shared a sink in the hall between the biffys. The wood door suggested an age of one hundred years old or more. Wood gets drier and lighter as it ages. The door handles reminded me of the late Nineteenth Century, just a touch hand made.
I wondered, "Should I buy a bar stool buddy a shot to say thanks for a clean restroom?" I walked over to the bar. I spotted a freezer stocked with six dollar frozen pizzas. Not one vegan pizza I felt sure. Hunger had arrived. A set of coolers showed off all the cans for sale. "Might I buy a Coke?" The woman bartending probably owned the bar. "Sure, that will be a dollar". Thank you I said as I gave her two dollars. "It's only a dollar, hon." "I wish to show my gratitude," I said with a smile.
"What brings you this way?" said the man who deduced my traveling status. "I was in Kankakee." "Kankakee? What brought you to Kankakee?" "I'm learning how to be a census taker. I count twenty at the pub. Let me write that down." He laughed. I had satisfied his curiosity by making him laugh. "You take care of yourself, hon," said the one woman who greeted me first when I came inside. "Yes, please take care of yourself, too. I'll be back".
It seemed like the right thing to say. I stepped out the door into the rays of a sun setting to the west. A John Deere gator, a blend between a tractor and a golf cart, proceeded towards Tom's corn. I spotted a few more as I drove to Tom's to score a dozen sweet ears.
Tom's yard looked like a John Deere commercial. One farmer arrived pulling a hay wagon full of people behind his yellow and green John Deere tractor. A man set at the wheel of his gator, closest to the picnic table where awaited the corn. "Hey, I bet you're Tom!" "That's right, I'm Tom." "Are you hosting a corn roast, Tom?" "Nope, it's a community gathering." "Might I pick out a few ears?" "Sure, hello yourself. There's the cash box. Put in what you want. Put in nothing. Take all you want."
I started to fill a plastic bag after sliding two dollars in the slot cut in the cash box. I thought that fair for six ears. "What's the event, Tom?" "It's a community picture. We just repainted our town sign, and fixed up the landscaping." I hadn't noticed. People kept arriving in vans, by car and even by ATV. "Is this a Lions Club project?" "Nope. We disbanded our club. The national wanted too much money every year. We just do our own community club. A long time resident left money in a will for the sign".
He patted the seat of his gator. "Any body need a ride." The sign stood right across the street. "Thank you, Tom. How long will you be picking sweet corn?" "Straight through Labor Day. You drive through often?" "First time by. Have a good night."
I counted twenty people walking over from the pub. It looked as if every two hundred citizens of Reddick planned to pose, smiling at the sunset. Soon, I would not be able to maneuver my sedan onto the road. I had to drive with the passenger tires on Tom's grass for ten feet as it was. As I drove off, I wondered if anyone would have noticed a visitor smiling for the camera, shoulder to shoulder...
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